


Reach Out (Touch Me)

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Naked Cuddling, Scars, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hot spring was discovered near the camp, Clarke was excited to use it to soothe her aching muscles and escape from the pressure of holding so many lives in her hands. As it turned out, she wasn't the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Me (Help)

It’s official. This is my new obsession. I simply adore Bellamy.

X X X

The sun had just begun to sink below the edges of the tree line, casting cool deep shadows to chase away the day’s heat. It was the comfortable period of late afternoon when everyone had returned from their tasks out in the wilderness back to the relative safety of the drop ship and its roughhewn walls. Bellamy and a few others were cooking their catch of the day on a spit and the entire camp smelled of delicious roasting meat. Clarke finished putting away the herbs and bandages she had used throughout the day. Honestly, she wished these people would learn to be more careful.

“Myself included,” she muttered a twinge of pain shot through her arm from elbow to shoulder and up her neck. Wincing, she rubbed her aching muscles. 

In hindsight, it hadn’t been a great idea to climb that tree, but Clarke finally allowed herself some measure of excitement to be on Earth. She climbed halfway to the top before the branch broke and sent her crashing back towards the ground. She managed to catch herself before she fell, but the jerk of all her body weight on her shoulder had popped the joint painfully. Her tiny cell in the Sky Box hadn’t done much to keep her in shape, but rationing had kept her thin.

She cradled her elbow with her other hand for support as she stepped out of the drop ship. A quick scan of the camp revealed that it looked like everyone had returned for the night. Finn and Raven had taken over cooking so that Bellamy could walk the perimeter. Guards stationed along their walls exchanged places to give each other a well-deserved break. 

Bellamy observed her as he passed. “Feeling better, Princess?”

She ignored him pointedly. Clarke wasn’t ready to admit he was right about the tree or that he had been right about quite a few things during their time here. Just because they had managed to agree on leading the Hundred together didn’t mean she had to give him any ground. She figured his ego didn’t need to be stroked more than it already had been. 

“There’s dinner when you’re hungry,” he continued as though he wasn’t getting the cold shoulder. “Boar, butchered by yours truly.” 

Clarke’s mouth watered. Though she would never admit it, she liked boar meat the best and Bellamy seemed to be the only one capable of killing them. 

As though reading her mind, Bellamy grinned and sauntered off without a word.

Clarke didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but she couldn’t resist. She approached Finn and Raven where they tended the fire. Finn scrambled a little helplessly once he was caught between them, but Clarke liked Raven and was trying very hard not to make it awkward. Neither of them was to blame for not knowing about the other. Finn should have told both of them. 

“Hey,” Raven greeted. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Better than my pride,” Clarke said. “If Bellamy doesn’t stop giving me his ‘I told you so’ face, I swear I’ll punch him.”

“I can punch him for you,” Finn offered.

Clarke slid him a look from the corner of her eye and Raven gave him a full-on glare.

He shrunk his attention back to the boar. 

“So,” Clarke continued, “I heard they found a hot spring nearby.”

Raven nodded eagerly. “You bet they did. It’s amazing!”

“You’ve been out to it?” Clarke asked.

“Monroe took me earlier today,” Raven told her. “I’ve never had a real bath before but it was everything I thought it would be.”

Clarke sighed. The closest she had ever come to a bath was the cold dip in the river she had taken with Finn what felt like an eternity ago. If that cold water had felt so good on her skin, she almost couldn’t imagine how amazing warm water would feel. 

“You should go,” Raven said. “Monty and Jasper made some soap. It’s not perfect, but it was enough to get the funk off.”

Clarke found her head bobbing in agreement before she had even thought it over thoroughly. 

Bellamy appeared at the fireside, content that the camp was as secure as it could be under the circumstances. He looked over the boar with a critical eye as Finn turned it and then inhaled deeply. “That smells about ready,” he said and turned his attention to the smaller rabbits roasting over a makeshift grill a few feet away. There was plenty of meat to go around tonight. Even though he and Clarke both knew they should save some and start preserving meat for the winter, it was hard after so long starving on the Ark. They finally had a chance to be full and it was hard to pass that up. Bellamy prodded one rabbit, found it to be burning, and turned it quickly over. 

Together, Finn and Bellamy lifted the boar off the spit and settled it down on a makeshift table. Bellamy took the knife from Finn before he could even consider carving up the prize. Bellamy cut in swift even strokes, pulling away slice after slice with an ease that looked like he had been born to do this. Clarke made herself useful organizing everyone into a line to accept dinner. She watched woefully as the boar dwindled. Just because she was co-leader didn’t mean she allowed herself any special treatment. She didn’t think it was right, but as she resigned herself to rabbit, Bellamy thrust a hefty piece of boar under her nose. 

“For you, Princess,” he said with a crooked smile.

Clarke took it from him eagerly. “I thought it was all gone,” she said and bit into the meat gratefully. 

“I saved a little for us,” Bellamy admitted. “I killed it so I figure I’m entitled.”

Clarke didn’t bother to protest. Bellamy would do whatever he wanted (within reason) no matter what she said. “Why didn’t you give this to one of your boys?”

“Did you want me to?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke curled protectively over the piece of meat, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, as though he might take it back from her. 

Bellamy chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “I’m not that cruel.”

Clarke watched him walk away with another piece of boar besides his own and watched curiously. She wasn’t surprised when he sat down beside Octavia and handed the meat to her. Octavia looked at him with a wide smile, her eyes practically glowing. Bellamy smiled in return. It transformed his face, removing the jagged edges that framed him. Not for the first time, Clarke was envious of the bond they shared. No one else on the Ark knew what it was like to have a brother or a sister and the Blakes made it look every bit a fairytale. 

Clarke finished off her dinner and was just considering returning to her tent for the night when Jasper bounded into her line of sight. He looked around hastily, spotted her, and darted over. He skidded down to sit beside her and brandished a misshapen glob of whiteness that Clarke almost smacked out of his hands in terror. 

“What is that?” she demanded.

“Soap,” he said proudly. “Raven told me you were going to the hot spring tonight. Monty and I just made this. We tried to add a scent to it. You can test it out. You will, won’t you?”

Clarke looked at the lump suspiciously. It reminded her of fungus—big white radioactive fungus that would make her glow in the dark—but Jasper looked so excited that she couldn’t tell him no. “Of course,” she agreed and let him drop it into her hands. She sniffed it delicately. It smelled decent, clean and fresh and a little like flowers. “Thank you,” she said.

Jasper beamed and bounded off for parts unknown. 

Clarke took the soap back to her tent with her, gathered all her clothes, and stuffed everything into her pack. She shouldered it carefully and headed towards the gate. She waved to Miller and he let her out happily. There was still plenty of sunlight and she made her way confidently in the direction of the spring. It wasn’t long before the air grew warm and humid. She knew she was close and a bubble of excitement welled in her chest. It took her a few more minutes to push through the thick water-loving brush that surrounded the spring. 

As she laid eyes on it, her breath caught. 

It was the size of a small pond, large enough to comfortably hold ten people. Steam came off the clear blue water in little wisps. From deep below the earth’s crust, hot water boiled up and overflowed the stone basin that made up the spring. A narrow stream wove through the woods, draining away the excess. Clarke crouched near the waterside and dipped her hand in, unable to stifle a tiny moan as she felt the heat. She forgot all about her plans to wash her clothes and her worries about Jasper’s radioactive soap. 

Clarke stripped off her clothes a little too fast, sending a spike of pain through her shoulder. She stepped into the water and found that the spring sloped downwards. It was shallow enough to sit in comfortably at the edge, but rose to her breasts as she stepped out further. At the center, it was even deeper, but not so deep that anyone would have to worry about drowning. With a content sigh, Clarke submerged beneath the warm water. She held her breath as the heat soaked into her body. It washed the tension from her muscles, relaxed her, and made her feel human for the first time in months. This was everything she had hoped for.

With a breath of relief, Clarke surfaced and pushed back her wet tangled hair. The sun was beginning to set and she hadn’t brought a lantern because she hadn’t thought she’d be here this long. Resigned and promising herself she’d come back tomorrow, she grabbed the bar of soap and began to scrub her skin. Grime and dirt swirled away on the current and she almost stared at her pale skin. She hadn’t even realized she was beginning to tan here on Earth. 

There was a soft snap and she whirled in time to see the light of a lantern fight through the bushes. 

“Raven?” she called.

The light hesitated and then pushed the rest of the way through. “Close,” came a familiar voice.

With a muffled shriek, Clarke submerged herself in the water to her chin. “Bellamy,” she hissed. Her words were garbled by how low she slipped in the water to hide herself. “Go away. I’m naked.”

“And so will I in a few minutes,” he said plainly. “Get a grip.”

She wanted to argue with him a little more, but she knew he was going to do whatever he wanted regardless. Besides, he had brought a lantern which meant she didn’t have to get out right now. She could always walk back to camp with him, giving herself more time to enjoy the hot spring.

“Fine,” Clarke grumbled. “But you stay over there. If you try anything, I’ll punch you.”

“Duly noted,” Bellamy said without care. He set down the lamp and began to strip. 

Clarke stared at the toned expanse of his chest for half a second before she ripped her eyes away and turned her attention back to washing herself. She scrubbed her feet, her calves, and her thighs with rapt focus until she heard Bellamy sigh in pleasure. The water shifted, displaced by his body, and lapped against her jaw. 

“This is the Holy Grail,” he breathed out so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

“Don’t drown,” Clarke said more bitingly than she intended.

Bellamy must have been either incredibly relaxed or incredibly tired because he ignored her barb. That was so unlike him that Clarke glanced over to make sure he hadn’t drowned or been eaten by an unknown monster that lived in the spring. She found him reclined comfortably against the side of the spring, sunk deep enough that the water reached his nose. His eyes were closed in bliss. He looked young like this, without the pressures of camp and life weighing on him. A little smile pulled at Clarke’s lips.

The warmth helped the pain in her shoulder and she washed the bruised joint gently. Once she finished cleaning her skin, she tried to work the soap into thick lather between her hands, but it hurt too much to move her shoulder. Awkwardly, she ran the bar over her hair, but she knew it was doing nothing to wash the grime away. With a sigh of defeat, she put aside the soap and tried to scrub her fingers through her hair. She had never thought about how difficult it was with only one hand.

Bellamy’s voice broke through her troubles. “Jasper said he gave you some soap. When you’re finished, give it to me.”

Clarke lowered her hand from her hair, picked the bar from the rock by her shoulder, and tossed it to him with a splash. Then, she returned her attention to the struggle that was her hair, grumbling under her breath. From the corner of her eye, she watched Bellamy wash himself quickly and easily with the use of both hands. He dunked himself beneath the water and resurfaced with a gasp. He put aside the bar and returned to relaxing while Clarke tried to wash the other side of her head.

“You look ridiculous. Do you want some help with that?” he asked finally.

Clarke glowered at him. “Like you know how to wash this much hair,” she snapped.

Bellamy chuckled lowly. “I did help Octavia grow up, remember? Who do you think washed her hair?”

Clarke stared at him for a moment, imagining young Bellamy Blake taking care of his sister in the tiny compartment where they lived until she was discovered and his world fell apart. Abruptly, she felt guilty. If there was one thing she could never doubt about Bellamy, it was that he loved his sister and would do anything for her. 

The underbrush rustled and a low growl broke the silence between them. 

Clarke froze. Bellamy grabbed the lantern and hastily extinguished it. The darkness plunged around them, broken only by their ragged breathing. Clarke shifted out of the water just enough to look around, holding her breath as she strained to listen. The sound of the stream blocked all but the loudest rustling. She was looking at the brush so closely that she didn’t notice Bellamy had moved until he touched her. She jolted and the water lapped against the shoreline and Bellamy’s back. 

Holding her forearm, he pulled her away from the edge and into the deeper part of the spring. He tugged her and she moved behind him. The water was deeper than she initially realized and her toes lost purchase on the sandy bottom. She closed a hand over Bellamy’s shoulder and used him as an anchor to prevent herself from slipping below the surface. Together, they stared at the forest. Bioluminescent plants revealed themselves and moonlight slanted through the leaves. As their eyes adjusted, they could see better now than they could with the lantern.

Clarke saw it first. She slipped her hand and arm along Bellamy’s cheek to catch his attention and then pointed. He followed her finger and tensed. The panther sniffed idly around the edge of the spring, nosing against Clarke’s pack. It growled lowly, dark fur blending into the shadows. It approached the water, lowered its head, sniffed the water, sneezed unpleasantly, and slid away into the shadows. Clarke didn’t breathe for a long moment, even after it left. Bellamy didn’t relax either. 

Finally, Clarke whispered, “I think it’s gone.”

Bellamy nodded. Cautiously, he moved away from the deep center of the spring and towed Clarke with him. Gratefully, she put her feet back on the ground and released his shoulder. As she pulled her hand away, she felt the raised brand of a scar. Despite herself, her fingers lingered against the old wound. She traced its shape, wondering how it had happened. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy murmured.

She hastily pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”

With the lamp extinguished and the forest glowing all around them, Clare realized she could see Bellamy better now. The shadows still fell across his tan skin in little bands and wisps, but the moonlight caught the marks on him. There was a bruise curling around his ribcage, a long scrape on his arm, the scar at his shoulder, and constellations of freckles everywhere. She smoothed at her hair, trying to convince herself to stop staring at him, and realized there was still soap in it. She sighed and returned to trying to wash it.

“Let me,” Bellamy said and his voice was uncharacteristically soft. 

Clarke wanted to argue, but he had already reached for the bar of soap. He lathered it in his long-fingered hands until rich foam developed. Without speaking, he beckoned her a little closer. Clarke folded her arm over her breasts and shyly put her back to him. Bellamy didn’t say anything as he carded his fingers through her hair. He was surprisingly gentle as he combed out the tangles and rubbed the pads of his fingers against her scalp. When his nails brushed gently, she almost moaned. Clarke pressed her head back into his hands. 

Bellamy’s thumb slipped behind her ear and he felt a scar there. It was small, just a healed scratch, but he felt it nonetheless. Clarke shivered, tilting her head to the side to hide the scar. Bellamy twisted her hair into a rope and ran the length of it through his fingers. Soap slipped off the ends and washed away. The moonlight played on Clarke’s skin, illuminating her pale curves and the bruises that peppered her. Bellamy had to stop himself from touching each one. He sucked in a breath and stepped away from her.

“There you go,” he said.

Clarke smoothed a hand over her hair, dipped beneath to rinse away the soap, and then murmured, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Bellamy said. 

He looked around warily, but there was no sign of the panther returning. He sank back into the water and tried to relax, tried to give it a little more time. It was better to be safe than sorry. He had to believe that the walls around their camp would keep the beast out. He had to believe those kids were on watch like he told them to before he left. He had to believe everyone was all right. 

Clarke came to sit beside him, not too close but not as far as she had been before. She drew her knees to her chest with her injured arm supported against her belly and rested her chin on them. Slowly, she closed her eyes and breathed out. The warm water lapped against her shoulders and bruises ringed the joint she had pulled.

Bellamy glanced over at her. He had been making fun of her for two days now, ever since she fell out of the tree like that idiot Spacewalker, but he knew it must be hurting her. Blood spilled beneath her white skin, leaving a circle of bruises and knots of pain. Before he realized what he was doing, Bellamy had reached to touch her. His fingers moved gently over her injury, feeling the ridges of her bones and muscles beneath.

Clarke tensed, but didn’t pull away or yell at him. She didn’t even open her eyes.

“Does it hurt much?” Bellamy murmured.

She nodded and whispered, “Only when I try to move it.”

Silence hung between them, soft and sheer.

“That scar on your shoulder,” she said quietly because the wound was large and ugly, “does that hurt still?”

Bellamy shook his head. “No.”

It became quiet again. The sounds of the forest whispered all around them.

Then, Clarke confessed, “I did it to myself.”

Bellamy didn’t ask what she meant. 

She lifted her fingers to her ear and traced the scar he had felt behind it. “When I was in solitary,” she continued, “For eleven months… I didn’t even know it was possible to feel that lonely. I… I just needed to feel something—anything.”

Bellamy’s fingers slid along her shoulder, beneath her hair, and over the scar behind her ear. “Didn’t they let your mother see you?”

Clarke shook her head. “She was able to bring me pencils to draw with, but I… I never got to speak with her,” she whispered. “Solitary was…”

Bellamy caressed the mark. “They didn’t let me see Octavia either,” he murmured. “I hadn’t seen her in more than a year.” 

Clarke sniffled quietly. Slow tears dripped down her cheeks, catching the moonlight. 

Bellamy stretched his arm across her shoulders and pulled her to him. Clarke hesitated, fighting his hand, for only an instant before she curled into his side. His bare skin was soft in places and callused in others, but so warm against hers. The hard ridges of his bones, his thinness, were at war with his strong muscles. She melted against him. Her hand fluttered without laying down anywhere, a butterfly too nervous to land, before she finally laid it against his chest. She felt his breath stutter beneath the innocent touch.

They didn’t need to speak. Clarke had been trapped in solitary confinement for eleven months, unable to speak to or touch anyone. Ever since Octavia had been discovered beneath the floor and his mother had been floated, Bellamy went from Cadet Blake to Janitor Blake. No one spared a second glance for him, as though afraid his bad luck was contagious. They both knew what it was like to be alone. The meaningless flings Bellamy had collapsed into once they arrived on Earth and the way Clarke crumbled into Finn couldn’t reach that deep loneliness.

Bellamy held her to him. His touch was blameless, tender and soft, even when he cupped her breast and turned her against him. Her flesh swelled in his hand as she breathed. His fingers traced the curve, the swell, and then cupped everything so that her nipple pressed into his palm. Clarke slipped her legs across his thighs and crawled into his lap. Her aching shoulder settled between them, locked in the strong curve of his side, and she slid her hand into his wet hair. She stroked his curls, running her fingers along his face and shoulder. 

Wet warmth gathered between her thighs, encouraging her to go farther, to forget all about Finn and the camp and the panther and the radioactive soap. Clarke ignored it and focused on the gentle caress of Bellamy’s fingertips. His other hand came to tangle in her clean hair, pulling the fine strands over her shoulders, and he followed the curve of her body. Clarke could feel his erection against her thigh, but Bellamy didn’t act on it. Neither of them reached for the place where they each throbbed with want.

Slowly, the knot of loneliness and hunger in Clarke’s chest diminished. She felt warm and relaxed in a way she hadn’t since before her father was floated. Bellamy caressed the line of her waist, raising goose bumps on her skin. Clarke traced his scar, his bruises, and then the freckles on his shoulder. Despite the pain in her joint, she wrapped her arm beneath his to stroke his back. She rasped her nails gently over his skin and he pressed her tighter to his chest. 

Clarke looked into his face. His eyes were dark and deep, focused on her, but there was an expression on his face that she couldn’t put a name to. He looked desperate and hungry, but not in the sense that she had expected when she was curled naked in his lap. 

“Bellamy?” she whispered and wondered if her face looked the same. 

He didn’t respond and she wasn’t even sure what she was asking. He slid his fingers through her hair, cradled the back of her head, and pulled her closer. She dipped down and rested her face in the hollow of his neck and shoulder. She breathed in, able to smell the soap and his skin in tandem. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to do next, but he simply wrapped his arms around her tightly and held her close. His erection began to soften against her, untouched, and she relaxed fully into his touch. 

It felt like a small comfortable eternity passed. The water babbled soothingly and the night was still. Clarke could have fallen asleep. Her entire body was warm and comfortable. Bellamy’s breath was deep and steady against her. She curled her fingers against his skin, tracing mindless patterns over his muscles.

Finally, Bellamy untangled his arms from her and stood up in the spring. Despite the fact that he had held her breast in his hand and her nudity pressed fully against him only a moment before, Clarke covered herself. He didn’t look at her as he stepped out and redressed. Then, he waited while she stood in the water, just staring at him.

“Come on,” he murmured. “I won’t look.”

Clarke climbed out of the water and pulled her clothes back on. She tried to shrug into her jacket, wincing as her shoulder throbbed. Bellamy lifted the jacket away from her and held it out so she could slide in more easily. She picked up her pack and put the soap back into it. He grabbed the lantern, but didn’t light it.

“Let’s go,” Bellamy said.

Clarke fell into step beside him and they walked back to camp together. The firelight grew visible between the trees and each step closer felt like a brick being placed into the wall she felt forming between them. Desperate, Clarke wet her lips to try to say something. Whatever they had shared in the spring, she needed that. She needed to be touched, held, kept warm. Bellamy slowed just beyond the view of their guards and Clarke’s breath caught as he looked at her. The moonlight and glow of the plants hung in his dark eyes. 

“I’m going to go to the spring every other day,” he said evenly, “just as it gets dark, if you’d like to join me.”

Clarke fought with the smile that tried to slip across her face. She nodded, grateful that he had left the door open for whatever this was between them. 

Bellamy didn’t say anything else as they returned to camp and parted ways. She tried not to watch him go, but it was hard to follow the plane of his strong back and know she had been running her fingers over that skin mere minutes ago. She was already looking forward to the day after tomorrow. She walked back to her tent, promising herself that she would wash her clothes tomorrow. 

Jasper found a while later, smiling. “Hey, I’m glad you got back okay. The guys on guard duty saw one of those panthers,” he said and then asked curiously, “How was the soap?”

“Wonderful,” Clarke said and combed her fingers through her clean dry hair. The memory of Bellamy’s hands washing it for her tingled warmly along her back and settled in the pit of her stomach. “You should definitely make some more.”

X X X

Whenever I talk about touch-starvation, I always have to talk about Harlow’s Monkeys because it is just so interesting to see how the mind works. If you haven’t heard about those experiments already, you should definitely look into them.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	2. Touch Me (Everywhere)

In my excitement to have discovered Bellamy Blake, I was surfing around the web and tripped over this article. In it, the actor who plays him (Bob Morley) comes right out and says he hates being objectified by fans. Now I feel a little bit guilty… Link, if you’re interested: http://heavy.com/entertainment/2015/01/bob-morley-the-100-instagram-cast-spoilers-eliza-taylor/

X X X

Finn couldn’t believe Clarke thought he was this stupid. He couldn’t believe she thought leaving for the hot spring a few minutes before or after Bellamy-fucking-Blake would be enough to make it look like they weren’t going together. It was bad enough Raven had slept with Bellamy as some sort of rebounded revenge and now Clarke was going with him too. How did that guard-turned-janitor-turned-criminal keep getting all the girls? More precisely, how did he keep getting all Finn’s girls?

Finn didn’t know why he bothered when he knew Clarke wasn’t going to come back to him any time soon, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know what was going on (even if he was already sure he knew). So, he followed her to the hot springs just as the sun went down. 

It was easy to follow the shine of her pale golden hair and he knew the path already. It was harder to sneak through the thick foliage that surrounded the spring without alerting either of them to his presence. They had figured out that predators didn’t like the spring for some reason, but Bellamy was still wound as tight as a piano wire. One wrong move and the guy would snap.

Finn crouched in the shadows, safely out of reach of the bioluminescent plants and the moonlight. Bellamy was already in the water, his clothes tossed in a pile at the shoreline along with an unlit lantern and his rifle. Clarke peeled off her clothes without preamble. Bellamy didn’t look at her for longer than a second before respectfully averting his eyes. Finn was surprised. He didn’t think Bellamy had a decent bone in his body, but he didn’t turn back towards Clarke until she had stepped into the warm water with a sigh. 

Clarke produced a bar of soap that Jasper and Monty had made. It got a little better every time they made a new batch and this one smelled like lavender. She washed herself briskly and scrubbed her fingers through her hair. Then, she passed the bar to Bellamy. He did the same. Finn’s mouth dropped open. This was so domestic and companionable. He didn’t believe they really came here together just to share soap. Finally, Bellamy acted at least partly the way Finn had expected.

“Here,” he offered. “I’ll wash your back.”

Clarke nodded and turned her back to him easily. He ran the soap along her shoulders, down the column of her spine, and back up. Once her skin was slick with soap, he folded his hands against her. He didn’t so much wash as massage her. Clarke sighed in pleasure and leaned back into his hands as he kneaded her shoulders and rubbed her back. Then, she rinsed off and did the same for him. Finn noticed the way she lingered on Bellamy’s freckles, on his scar, on a bruise at the back of his neck. 

They were both very clean now and Finn glanced up at the moon’s position. Usually, Clarke and Bellamy were gone for an hour to bathe, but only ten minutes had passed. They must spend the rest of the time passionately making out, Finn thought. Then, even more surprisingly, Clarke slipped into Bellamy’s lap and he wrapped his arms around her tightly and… that was all. Bellamy just held her. He had one of the most beautiful girls in camp in his arms and he was just… holding her.

Finn could only stare, shocked. He could hear them speaking, but it was too quiet to make out anything they said. Clarke’s hand slid up Bellamy’s back and tangled through his thick curls. Finn waited for her to tug his head back and fasten hickeys on his throat, but she just stroked his hair. She ran her hand along his face and Bellamy leaned into the caress. Bellamy’s hands wandered Clarke’s body without a purpose. He stroked the outsides of her thighs, the curve of her breast, the line of her shoulder. 

Finn kept waiting for them to kiss, for Clarke to start moaning, for anything devious to happen, but it never did. Bellamy just cradled her to his chest, stroking her bare soft skin in the most gentle and innocent ministrations. Clarke remained curled against him, her lips moving as she spoke, and traced the freckles on his cheeks. The pressed the ball of her thumb to a scar at the corner of his mouth gently. She smiled, laughing quietly at something Bellamy said, and Bellamy smiled thinly in return. 

Finn couldn’t believe it. 

He really just couldn’t believe it.

Too confused to be happy that Clarke wasn’t banging Bellamy-fucking-Blake, Finn slipped backwards through the thick underbrush. He made his way back to camp in the semidarkness. He returned to the tent he had once shared with Clarke, once shared with Raven, and now had all to himself. It was lonely in his empty bed, but Finn flopped down regardless. It didn’t take him long to sleep. Bellamy had dragged him out hunting today and made him bring down a rabbit by himself to prove a point. 

Finn closed his eyes and before he knew it, his lids were painted with images of Clarke’s pale skin. He woke reaching for her, but sunlight had already streamed through the flap of his tent. 

In the morning light, Finn felt braver, but also more raw and bitter. He couldn’t get the image of Clarke cocooned in Bellamy’s arms out of his head. It seared behind his eyes like a brand. He had to get to the bottom of this. He and Clarke were still friends, even with that happened between them, right…?

Finn made his way to the drop ship where he knew Clarke would be. He hesitated at the threshold, looking at the fall of her clean golden hair. Her clothes clung to her curves while still leaving something to the imagination. Finn had always prided himself with knowing what lay beneath, but that pride was tarnished now that Bellamy knew too. 

“Why do you always go to the spring the same time Bellamy does?” His voice rang through the drop ship, more harsh and sour than he had intended.

Clarke had been sorting her bandages by length and she stopped only briefly before resuming that task. “Excuse me?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Finn said sternly. He approached to stand beside her elbow. 

“It’s safer to bathe in groups,” Clarke said in a practiced sort of way, like she was waiting for this confrontation. 

“Then why don’t you bathe with Raven?” he asked and then blundered ahead before he could catch himself. “Why don’t you bathe with me?”

Clarke finished with her bandages and began to sterilize her few instruments with moonshine. “I like to go with Bellamy,” she said and her voice was firm. “He doesn’t expect anything from me.”

Such a simple answer surprised Finn and he stood there with his mouth open for a moment. “He doesn’t expect anything?” he repeated incredulously.

Clarke had so few tools that she was already finished by the time he asked. She turned to leave the drop ship without answering.

Finn clutched at her jacket sleeve. “Clarke,” he pleaded.

She paused and regarded him with eyes like slivers of ice. “What do you want me to say, Finn?”

“Clarke, if you need something,” he offered slowly, “I could help you. I would do anything for you. You know that, right?”

She pulled her sleeve from his grip, but without malice. 

He continued, “If you need it, Clarke, I could hold you—”

“No,” she bit out sharply. 

For a moment, she studied him and he could see the gears whirring in her head as she tried to decipher why had had said that so specifically. In that instant, Finn knew he had tipped his hand too far. 

She rounded on him, jabbed her finger into his chest, and forced him to back away. “If you follow me again, you won’t like what happens,” she warned him. “And don’t you dare spread this around camp. What I do in my free time is no one’s business but mine. It’s especially not yours.”

Finn swallowed thickly.

With that, Clarke turned away from him. She walked briskly away, out of the drop ship, and directly to Bellamy. She didn’t do anything like throw her arms around his neck or kiss him or burst into tears. She simply came to a stop at his side. Bellamy glanced over at her without breaking his conversation with Miller. Clarke stood beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, and that was enough. It wasn’t until that moment that Finn really admitted he had lost her.

…

“Is something bothering you?” Bellamy asked lowly once they were clean and she was coiled in his lap. His erection was an annoyance, but it diminished as he talked to her and gave himself something else to think about. Gingerly, he traced the line of her collarbone. Warm water dripped off his fingertips, rolled along her skin, and rejoined the spring.

“Not really,” Clarke muttered. She stroked her thumb over the raised scar on Bellamy’s shoulder. 

“You can tell me,” he said. He picked up a lock of her long golden hair, twisted it around his fingers, and tugged very lightly. 

“It’s Finn,” she confessed because she felt warm and safe in his arms. 

“What about Spacewalker?” Bellamy asked. A little growl slipped into his voice. 

“He knows,” she murmured. 

“Knows what?” His hand slid down her chest, between her breasts, and settled against her belly. 

Clarke nestled deeper into his arms. She slipped her fingers through the cool wet silk of his hair, letting the curls loop around her fingers. “About this,” she said.

Bellamy shrugged and warm water lapped over Clarke’s skin. “So?”

She stared at him for a moment. “Don’t you care?”

“No,” he said plainly. He rested his chin on the top of her head as his hand slid down her thigh to cradle the curve of her knee. 

Clarke ran her fingers down the line of his chest, over his abs, and back up to the hollow of his throat. A little sound escaped Bellamy’s lips as she stroked her thumb over his windpipe and his pulse. She felt his fingers twitch, curling against her thigh. 

“Do you like that?” Clarke whispered.

Bellamy nodded jerkily.

“Why?” she asked in a voice that was barely a breath of air. 

He slid his hand up her torso and cradled her throat in his long-fingered hand. Clarke couldn’t deny the rush of heat that curled through her body, pooling between her legs and wrapping around her heart tightly. Bellamy stroked her pulse with his thumb, the callus rough against her satin skin. 

“Do you feel that?” he asked. 

She gasped, breathless and unable to answer.

Bellamy pressed his entire palm over her throat so that his fingers curled into the soft hairs at the base of her neck. “Are you afraid?” he asked.

Clarke’s head involuntarily quirked to the side with confusion and her eyes fluttered open. “What?” she breathed.

He squeezed very softly. The pressure was barely noticeable, but Clarke gasped regardless. Bellamy didn’t lower his hand. “Are you afraid?” he asked again.

Clarke became aware that his throat was still under her hand. Her fingernails had curled into his skin as he asked her these strange questions, but he didn’t pull away. Finally, she answered honestly, “No.” She wasn’t afraid, even knowing that Bellamy could probably break her neck if he wanted. She didn’t believe he would hurt her. 

“Trust,” he whispered.

Clarke ran her thumb over his windpipe, feeling his breath, and realized he had answered her question. “It feels nice,” she murmured and leaned more snuggly into his bare chest. 

Bellamy nodded and lowered his hand from her neck. He cradled her breast in one hand while the other rubbed her back. 

Clarke let her fingers slide further up, over his chin, his lips, and his nose. He closed his eyes and she traced the smooth skin of his eyelids. She swept her thumb across his forehead, smoothing away the lines that lingered. Then, she caressed a path back down. She outlined his lips with the pad of her index finger, letting her nail just scrape along the seam. Bellamy opened his mouth and his breath was moist and warm on her skin. It reminded her of the spring, inviting and safe.

Her finger rested on his lower lip without moving for a long moment. Whether Bellamy intended to wet his parted lips or actually lick her, she would never know but his tongue snaked against her finger lightly. It was hot and wet and the sensation drew an involuntary gasp from her. Curious, she let her finger slide into his open mouth. He closed his lips around it and she felt the scrape of his teeth. Gingerly, he licked her finger and then sucked gently. 

His erection, which had gone soft from lack of attention, began to harden against her thigh. Before this went too far, Clarke drew her hand away from his mouth and let it rest on his shoulder. She touched his scar instead. 

Bellamy didn’t take it farther than that. He didn’t ask for anything. He didn’t expect anything. Clarke was left with the warmth pooling between her thighs, uncertain if she should try to further this or if she should let the moment pass. There were no words for what this was between them. There was no clear boundary. 

Clarke didn’t draw away from him.

His fingers stroked the soft swell of her breast without moving lower.

…

It rained the next day Clarke was due to meet Bellamy at the hot spring. She had only seen him in passing throughout the day and now that night had fallen, she couldn’t find him anywhere. She warred with herself, wondering if she should venture out into the rain to go to the spring. If Bellamy wasn’t there, she would look like a fool, but if he was… The day had been long and exhausting. Clarke didn’t want to miss out on the chance to curl in his arms and relax, soaking up his touch like she was drowning. Finally, Clarke grabbed her pack and squelched out into the rain.

Jasper was guarding the gate, but he was sullen and wet as a cat. He and Monty had rigged up a tarp, but it wasn’t doing much against the steady downpour that saturated the Earth. He smiled at Clarke as she let herself out. “Remember when we saw rain for the first time?” he asked.

Clarke nodded fondly.

“Well, I’m starting to not like it so much,” Jasper said. “I feel all mildewed.”

“I know,” she said, “but I’m sure it will stop tomorrow.”

“Are you going after Bellamy?” Jasper asked.

Her heart leaped a little bit. “When did he leave?”

“Fifteen minutes ago, right when it got dark,” Jasper told her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back,” Clarke assured him. 

With that, she pushed through the gate and basically sprinted to the spring. She was only a shade above drenched when she got there, but found that Bellamy had rigged a makeshift shelter between two trees. His pack rested beneath it along with his rifle and lantern. Clarke dropped her pack beside his and stripped off her clothes. She practically jumped into the warm water beside him, grinning as a cascade lapped against his chest and shoulders. 

He glanced at her, smiled faintly, and reached to touch her face. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he murmured. 

Clarke leaned into his fingers. “Like I could stay away,” she said and was surprised how much truth there was in those words. 

It was a strange sensation with the cold rain pouring down on her head while the warm spring surrounded the rest of her. Bellamy’s eyes were soft and dark with desire. Through the blur of the water, she could see that he was hard already and a flush of heat surged between her thighs, but neither of them acted upon it. 

It was enough to be together, to touch innocently, to be like this, wasn’t it?

His long fingers curved against her cheekbone, warm and secure. Already, tension began to seep out of Clarke’s body. She had never thought about how important human contact was until she missed it, until she managed to receive it again. She didn’t know what she would do if she could no longer touch him and be touched by him. 

“Bellamy,” she whispered.

He studied her through the rainfall. 

“I came out here in the rain to see you,” she said finally. “You owe me.”

A little smile tugged at his lips. “Oh?”

Clarke didn’t climb into his lap. Instead, she knelt beside him in the warm water and pulled his hand away from her face. For a moment, he looked concerned and his lips parted as though to protest, but Clarke had a better idea right now. She brought his hand to her lips and folded her mouth against the back of his hand. She didn’t quite kiss his skin, but when she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, she knew he was thinking about it. Then, she parted her lips and drew her tongue over his skin. She could taste the cool rain and feel the texture of him.

Bellamy let out a hoarse breath. Clarke drew her tongue over his rough knuckles. The skin there was cracked and broken, sharp with the herbs she had spread over the healing injuries earlier in the day. Most of the wounds had healed already, but she could feel the slight ridges of his scars with her tongue. Bellamy nearly trembled when she slipped her tongue between his fingers. She didn’t take a finger into her mouth and she almost tasted his frustration. She adjusted his hand so that his fingers rested over her face and pressed her tongue to his palm. 

His fingers twitched, betraying his outwards calm. Clarke slipped her tongue back between his fingers and finally drew two fingers into her mouth. She closed her lips over them and sucked very gently. Bellamy’s pupils were blown wide and his gaze was nearly black when she looked at him. She put her other hand on his shoulder and felt his muscles vibrating with need. All at once, she thought she might be going too far. What she had with Bellamy was fragile and strange. She didn’t want it to break. She couldn’t risk losing it.

A flicker of emotion passed across Bellamy’s face, part-pain and part-something-else. 

She drew away from his fingers with a wet pop. “Bellamy?” she asked softly.

He didn’t speak. 

Wordlessly, he slipped his other hand around the back of her neck and tangled his fingers in her hair. Rain slid down her cheeks, into her eyes and mouth. It was cold as it made a path down her throat, as it splattered on her exposed shoulders, as it rolled down her back. With her skin chilled like that, the instant Bellamy kissed her was like a searing brand. If she forgot everything else, if her mind emptied of every other moment in her life, she would always remember the inferno of his mouth.

She gasped as the heat of him scorched every inch of her lips. The kiss was brief, a burning warning of the heat to come, before Bellamy gave her a parachute through the freefall. All she had to do was yank the ripcord and it would all be innocent again, but Clarke found that she liked the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. Clarke immediately latched her hand behind his head, tangled her fingers through his curls, and drew him back. Once she did that, it was as though the gates inside him had been flung open and a wildfire raged out. 

Haphazardly, Bellamy jerked her against him. She lost her footing in the soft sand, anchored only by her hold on his hair and lips. Her legs slipped over his so that his thigh was between hers. The pressure made her cry out, bolts of white-hot bliss shooting through her blood and into his mouth. He took advantage of her parted lips to slide his tongue inside. It was everything she had felt on her finger days before and so much more. The cold rain slid between them, igniting everywhere they were connected. 

Bellamy was a furnace. Pieces of Clarke that had felt cold and dark since her father was floated and she was locked away from everyone to keep a secret she shouldn’t have known felt full of heat and light. Embers settled in her throat, her breasts, her belly, between her thighs. Bellamy’s hands gripped her waist, holding her so that she ground against him. Gasps of pleasure escaped her, spilling into his mouth where he swallowed them. His tongue snaked along her, tangling, but he didn’t battle for dominance. 

One hand twisted in her saturated golden hair, pulled her head back just enough to break the kiss, and then folded his mouth over her throat. Clarke gasped as his teeth scraped along her pulse and then his tongue soothed the little nips left behind. His breath gusted against her ear as he nosed her hair aside and drew his tongue over the scar behind her ear. A surprised moan slipped from her lips as the sensation roared through her body. That scar was her secret, her wound, her pain, and Bellamy knew exactly how to touch it.

Clarke’s hand wandered down his chest, roaming the sleek planes of his muscles and bones. She felt a scrape on his belly, the dips and bumps of his ribs, the strong V of his pelvis. His erection brushed her wrist, velvet skin wrapped over something as hard as steel. He gasped against her throat and his hips lifted involuntarily. The movement jostled Clarke so that her swollen pearl rubbed his thigh. She moaned softly, sought for an anchor, and wrapped her fingers around his length. Bellamy groaned, teeth flashing against her windpipe. 

One hand slid from her hip, down over the swell of her ass, and dipped between her thighs. Despite herself and the flicker of embarrassment that crawled through her chest, Clarke spread her legs further to give him better access. Bellamy’s rough fingers stroked over her slick soft folds and Clarke bucked against his hand. She tugged his erection, smoothing her thumb over the weeping head. Bellamy stroked the length of her slit, his finger pausing to press on her pearl. Clarke breathlessly clung to him.

Bellamy pushed two fingers into her, opening her so that a ribbon of warm water seeped inside. Clarke’s body clutched him, convulsing greedily to draw him in deeper. She stroked his shaft, twisting her wrist so that she could feel every inch of his hardness. He breathed, inhaling rainwater, as his mouth hungrily sought hers. She moaned, rocking against his hand, and he let his thumb rasp over her pearl. The hot water coupled with the cold rain made everything feel so much brighter, hotter, better.

For the first time in her life, Clarke felt an orgasm building in the pit of her belly. It was searing, uncontrollable, and a tremor rushed through her blood. She couldn’t decide if she was going to scream or cry. The pleasure twisted through her body, stemming from everywhere Bellamy touched her. When he folded his mouth over hers again, tongue snaking out to dance with hers, she careened over the edge. Everything—the rain, the spring, the pressure of running the camp, Earth—dropped away and was replaced by the feeling of his skin against hers.

Bellamy stroked her through her high, letting her spiral down through the blur of whiteness and limb-weakening pleasure. Panting, Clarke came back to herself. Her mouth was folded over the junction of his neck and shoulder, teeth canted into him. She pulled back slightly and laved her tongue over the intents left by her teeth. She became aware of Bellamy’s erection twitching in her hand, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. She kissed him again and stroked him gently.

A shuddering breath escaped Bellamy’s lips. “Harder,” he whispered.

Clarke jolted, but did as he asked. She tightened her fingers around his length and began to stroke him more firmly. With that improved pressure, her pace increased as well until she was worried she would hurt him. She broke the kiss to look into his face, but his eyes were closed and his lips were parted to allow him to gasp for breath. He looked half-undone, his fingers tightening until she was sure they would leave marks on her hips. She memorized his face, listened to the little sounds he made, as she stroked him. 

When he came, a strangled sound escaped his mouth. Bellamy wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest. The rain continued to pour down on them, cold against their bare skin, but the spring kept them warm. He slipped his hand against the back of her neck, thumb stroking over the scar behind her ear gently. Clarke burrowed into him, her lips ghosting along his collarbone. She caressed his chest, fingers worshiping the planes of his muscles. 

There was no going back from this, Clarke thought as she curled tightly into him. Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

X X X

Drop me some reviews. I always struggle to pull off touch-starvation. Am I doing a good job?

Questions, comments, concerns?


	3. Hold Me (Tightly)

Not that any of you know me in real life, but I am a huge connoisseur of crappy horror movies and I was going through some of the Fangoria lists—one of which is Road Kill (or Road Train). Imagine my surprise to see Bob Morley in it, playing the nicest psycho killer since Lots-o-Huggin’ Bear. It was a little refreshing to see a crazy guy playing the ‘Stay with me and help me kill people and I’ll love you forever with my sweet face’ card rather than just waving his gun and doing lots of yelling (like the other guy).

X X X

Clarke lay awake in her tent well into the night, listening to the wind whispering through the tree branches and an owl calling in the darkness. Very distantly, she could also hear the snap and pop of the fire that burned constantly in the middle of their camp. She was warm and comfortable in her makeshift bed, but she couldn’t fall asleep even though her day had been long an exhausting. 

She was becoming dependent—dependent on Bellamy—and not only to lead their camp or help set broken arms, but to get to sleep at night. Whenever they bathed together in the hot spring, always touching but not always intimately, she fell asleep quickly in her bed. On the nights that they didn’t, Clarke couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her tent. 

With a disgusted growl in her throat, she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She had to stop feeling this way. What she and Bellamy shared at the spring was wonderful and necessary, but when they came back to camp, they had to be independent again. Clarke needed to be independent. She also had to get to sleep. 

Abruptly, a familiar silhouette pushed open the flap of her tent. His curls were tousled all over his head and Bellamy said, “Clarke.”

She sat up sharply, already awake when she heard the worry in his voice. Her heart leapt into her throat. “What is it?” she asked and tried to tame her wild hair out of her face. 

“Come with me,” Bellamy said quickly. His face was pale in the moonlight, dark eyes wide with concern, and he held out his hand for her.

Clarke stuffed her feet into her boots but didn’t bother with anything else. Bellamy pulled her tight under his arm, sheltering her from the cold night air as it bit at her like a ferocious beast. She shivered, clutching him, as he led her quickly to the drop ship. Bright lantern light spilled out through the open threshold. Clarke didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the sight of Raven’s cobbled-together communications screen. Marcus Kane stared out at her from behind the flickering static, his voice coming and going.

“Hold on,” Raven said more to herself than anyone else. “Almost there.” She was lying under the table, fiddling with wires and knobs. The image cut in and out like the wind was blowing it.

“Raven,” Finn said insistently.

“Hold your panties,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ve almost got it.” Something sparked and the screen cleared as much as it was going to.

Bellamy pushed Clarke down to sit in front of the screen, handing her a headset. His fingers brushed along her nape, over her scar, and then he sat down beside her. He pulled the other headset over his head. Raven and Finn hovered nervously behind them. 

“Can you hear me?” Kane asked. 

Clarke nodded, cleared her throat, and said, “Yes. What’s wrong?”

“Another escape pod was launched,” he said in a voice that crackled with static. 

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Out of everything she had expected him to say, that wasn’t it and it wasn’t exactly bad news either. “Alright,” she said and rubbed the sleep from her face. “We’ll get them. Where did it come down?”

“We don’t know,” Kane said and worry crawled into his voice. “That’s the problem. We lost all contact with them. All I know was they were off course when the pod was launched. They could have landed anywhere.”

Clarke wet her lips, thinking of yet more people she loved lost in the woods somewhere. “Who was in the pod?” she asked.

Kane hesitated. 

Clarke knew before he even spoke. Tears welled in her eyes and she whispered, “No…” She jerked off her headset, dropped it, and hastily tripped from the drop ship. The light fell against her back, sending her shadow skipping across the soil. It looked malformed and ugly, twisted like she felt on the inside.

“Talk to him,” she heard Bellamy say to Raven and Finn. “Find out what you can.” Then, his heavy boots crunched on the ground behind her. 

Frigid wind slashed at Clarke and she wrapped her arms around herself. She knew how warm Bellamy was, but she didn’t want him to catch up with her. She didn’t want to see him, not now as her world came undone. She stumbled to the edge of the camp, breathing raggedly, and leaned against the wall.

“Clarke,” Bellamy said softly. His hands were warm as they rested on her shoulders. He tried to pull her away from the wall.

She jerked away from him and walked several more paces, stumbling over fallen branches. Her breath came quick and fast, rattling in her lungs. She kept her back to Bellamy and leaned against the protective wall again, sobbing into her hands. Warm tears dripped between her fingers and fell to the soil below. 

Bellamy tried again, but he didn’t give her room to pull away this time. He swathed his arms around her tightly and pulled her back against his chest. She struggled in his embrace, but the fight sagged out of her as the moment went on. Finally, she turned and buried her face in his chest. Bellamy pulled his coat around her and actually managed to zip it behind her back. 

Clarke was enveloped in his warmth, his scent, his shelter. His coat was too small for both of them and it pressed her almost painfully tight against his body. The hard ridges of his bones dug into her and her body certainly did the same to him, but he cradled her regardless. Clarke’s tears dried slowly as Bellamy rubbed her back. 

“We’ll find them,” Bellamy whispered. “If that pod came down anywhere near here, we will find your mom.”

“Bellamy,” she cried softly. 

He hushed her, stroking her golden hair even as the wind ripped at both of them. Then, he unzipped his coat, sheltered her against his side, and led her back to her tent. With surprising care, he helped her sit down on her bed and began unlacing her boots. 

“No,” Clarke protested weakly.

“You can’t go out now,” he said. “It’s dark and it’s windy. You’ll just get lost. In the morning, we’ll all go out and look for the pod.”

Clarke sniffled. 

Bellamy resumed taking off her boots. He set them aside and remained kneeling at her feet for a moment. Then, he looked up at her. His eyes were soft and dark, his hands lingered on her knees, and he was close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. It was nothing like when they were at the hot spring together. Clarke felt the barrier of that between them, but she just didn’t care. She needed this. She needed him.

She reached for his face, her fingers sliding along his cheekbones and into his hair. He stared at her with something between confusion and desire, but didn’t pull away. In fact, when Clarke tugged him gently, he practically crumbled into her. His arms circled around her waist, crushed her to him, and his mouth seared over hers. Kissing him was easy and familiar, safe and secure, but still burning. Clarke didn’t think she would ever tire of it.

Bellamy drew her lower lip into his mouth and his teeth scraped along it. She moaned softly and clutched his shoulders. It was strange to feel the barrier of clothing between them, even as everything else crumpled away. She gripped his hair, her tongue sliding against his, and gasped breathlessly. She tried to pull him closer, but he refused. Instead, he slipped his arm beneath her knees and shifted her body into her unmade bed. 

Bellamy broke away from the kiss and pulled the blankets over her. He perched on the edge of the bed for a moment, his weight dipping it. He smoothed her hair out of her face, his expression tender. He moistened his lips, tasting her, and then said, “Get some sleep, Clarke. In the morning, we’ll look. I promise.”

Exhaustion clawed at Clarke. Now that she had touched Bellamy, kissed him, been held in his arms, she finally felt ready to sleep. She closed her eyes, feeling hot tears press at the seal of her lids, and let her breath out slowly. Bellamy pressed a light kiss to her forehead and then he left her tent. Clarke could still feel his lips when she fell asleep. 

…

It wasn’t until the Ark came down from the sky, the Hundred joined the adults, and Camp Jaha was shaped out of the earth that Clarke started to miss the hot spring. She hadn’t really had time to miss the warm water even if she desperately missed Bellamy. There was too much else going on, too much danger, too many other things to worry about. Now they had a treaty with the Grounders and everyone who was lost had been found, she felt the lack of the spring like a physical wound. 

Sometimes, she caught Bellamy looking at her and wondered if he felt the same.

Sometimes, she caught herself staring at him and her skin tingled with heat. 

Camp Jaha came together quickly once she and Bellamy were given back the power they had since landing on Earth. The Hundred listened to them and they had learned to work as quite the team. They built small homes like the ones the Grounders lived in all around the ruin of the Ark Station. They learned to plant crops, weave cloth, and hunt in neat parties. They organized running water with Raven’s help and soon they even had hot showers. Everything was as good as it ever had been. Peace descended over everyone like a blanket, warm and full. 

There was no more need for a hot spring, for an escape, for secrecy. 

Two weeks later, Clarke couldn’t bear it anymore. The sun had just sunk below the horizon, spilling cool shadows across the ground. She crept out of the medium-sized house she shared with her mother near the Medical Bay, slithered through the shadows, and knocked lightly on Bellamy’s door. She entered without waiting though and found Bellamy stretched out on his bed with a salvaged book in his lap. He looked up at her in surprise. His eyes were deep and dark like the night, warm with the heat of the sunlight. 

“Clarke?”

She pulled herself onto his bed, straddling his thighs just above his knees. He shifted slightly, propping himself against his pillows and putting aside his book. The day had been warm and he was shirtless. Clarke drank in the contours of his body, the curve of his waist, the jut of his hip above the waistband of his jeans, the line of his abs, the freckles dusted across his tanned skin. Against the deep bronze tone, his scars stood out like pale ghosts. Clarke reached to touch them, but hesitated. This was not the hot spring.

“Bellamy,” she said softly.

His throat flashed as he swallowed, as he breathed, as he drank her in.

“I…” she murmured and then hesitated for an instant. She and Bellamy shared everything, the weight of lives, the trust of the Hundred, the scorn of Chancellor Jaha. She could share even this with him. Their trust ran that deep and unfettered. “I want you,” she said simply.

For a moment, it looked as though he was going to accept that without question. Then, he sobered slightly and asked, “How do you want me?”

Clarke paused as she considered lying. She knew Bellamy used to be into one-night-stands, but she hadn’t seen any girls leaving his room in the wee hours of the morning for a very long time. There were shadows beneath his eyes, a scar on his throat where his blood had been drained, and a bruise shadowing the line of his shoulder where he settled his rifle. She didn’t bother to lie or even to dance around the truth of the matter. The words spilled out of her easily. 

“I want to be yours,” she said, “And I want you to be mine.”

For a moment, he stayed silent and unmoving. Clarke was beginning to think he didn’t like what she’d said when a warm smile pulled at Bellamy’s lips. 

“Good,” was all he finally said.

He slid his hands up her legs, over the swell of her butt, and up her back. It felt impossibly strange to have the barrier of her jeans between them after all the times they had touched each other at the hot spring, bare and close. Gratefully, she pressed her hands to his naked chest. His hand found the back of her neck through her tangled tresses, stroking over her bare skin with the pads of his fingers. He pulled her down to him and kissed her deeply. Her hair hung around their faces in a golden curtain, hiding them from the world outside. 

Clarke breathed into him. By now, she knew every line of his mouth. Kissing him was second nature, easy, but still precious. One hand slid up his chest to cradle along his jaw. The crescent-shaped scar against his cheekbone was very faint in the light, but she could still feel it beneath her fingers. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, tasting him, and he pressed her impossibly deeper. Every inch of her body was spread against his. In his bed, still clothed, it somehow felt more intimate than all the other times they had touched. 

It felt like the first time again.

Clarke separated from him long enough to pull her shirt over her head. She hadn’t bothered to wear a bra and Bellamy cupped the heavy curves of her breasts in his palms. He didn’t rub her nipples. He just touched her, held her, cradled her. Unless they both wanted it, he would always take the gentleman’s route, but Clarke wanted him. She wanted all of him. She unbuttoned his jeans, giving his erection the space it needed, and folded her palm over the heat of him. He groaned quietly, hips lifting against her touch.

His hands slid down her bare sides, over her belly, and unfastened the snap of her jeans. Clarke had to slide away from him and stand to take off her boots and jeans. He sat up, eyes hooded as he watched her. In that moment, the lamplight fell over her skin and she looked at him. It became something she had to think about, something she could regret, something she was no longer doing on just a whim. He had never been inside her. They had never taken the final step and if they did…

Bellamy had always been able to read her and now was no exception. “Clarke,” he murmured.

She paused, wearing only her panties. She lifted her hands to cover her breasts and immediately felt absurd. Not moments ago, Bellamy had held her in his hands. He had touched her so many times so why was she hiding from him?

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her. 

Something inside her jolted with his words. Everything she had ever done with Bellamy, she had done because she wanted to. Nothing would ever change that and she didn’t want him to think that she had ever been forced. She dropped her hands and quickly closed the space between them. 

Bellamy was seated at the edge of his bed, barefoot and shirtless. Though still wearing his jeans, Clarke had unbuttoned them and they fell open, exposing the top of his boxers and the press of his desire. Clarke moved to straddle him, sliding her knees around his hips and resting down in his lap. She looped her arms around his shoulders, embraced him, and leaned her mouth into his throat. The scar on his shoulder gleamed in the lamplight and she longed to run her lips over it.

“I want to,” she assured him. Her lips moved against his skin, warm breath pluming over him. “I want this… I want you.”

Bellamy’s hand wandered up her back, tracing the column of her spine and the curvature of her ribcage. His thumb found a scrape and traced it gently. Clarke shivered at the sensation. She clawed her fingers through his hair, pulling his curls through her hands, and angling his head up to face where she knelt above his lap. 

Her lips found his. 

Hungrily, she kissed him and his tongue slid into her mouth. It was as scorching as it always had been. Clarke didn’t think anything would ever take the edge off kissing him. She would never get used to the searing heat of his mouth, the way his teeth scraped her lip and set her blood on fire, and the swipe of his tongue against hers. 

Clarke pushed his shoulders gently and he leaned back into the pillows. The lantern light fell across his bare torso like a caress. She lowered herself over him, fingers trailing over his skin, and he shuddered softly. Bellamy pressed her against him and the sensation surged through her. Her bare skin was flush against his, nipples aching as they met the hard muscles of his frame. She almost moaned, but swallowed the sound. 

She lowered her mouth to his golden skin, kissing and licking the tiny freckles that spotted him. She mapped the constellations in the light as though seeing them for the first time. In a way, she almost was. She had never seen Bellamy in more light than that of the luminescent plants. He was stunning. She nipped the tender skin just above his sternum, suckling softly, and he tangled his fingers through her hair with a breath that was almost a moan. 

Clarke ran her lips over his chest, breathing shakily as the scent of him surrounded her. The texture of his skin felt different without the steam between them. It was better, softer, more like him. It was easy to worship his body, so strong and yet pliant beneath her. He let her touch every inch of him, her lips and tongue mapping every freckle, scar, and curve. She drew her lips over his pulse, along the line of his jaw, and kissed him again.

She paused to wriggle down her panties and toss them aside. Bellamy reached for his jeans, but she covered his hands with hers. Puzzled, Bellamy watched as Clarke tugged his pants and boxers off. This was familiar, easy, and yet goose bumps prickled across Clarke’s skin. A swarm of butterflies took up root in her chest, knocking into all her bones and organs in their haste to break free. They wanted to touch down on Bellamy’s skin.

Clarke curled her fingers around his hard length and stroked firmly. She watched him, studying the way his chest hitched and how his eyes fluttered closed. Pleasure lined his expression, washing away the worry and stress of the day. He was iron-hard beneath his velveteen skin, aching and pulsing. Clarke scooted forward to straddle him. She lined his shaft up with her dripping entrance. Slowly, she rocked her hips down and sheathed him slowly within her. 

There was no pain. She was wet and receptive and she wanted this more than she had ever wanted anyone. He was thick and long, smoothing along her walls and pressing flush against her until she was full. She tipped her head back, gasping in pleasure, and felt Bellamy’s hands close around her hips. Then, he inhaled sharply and Clarke felt his breath jolt through where they were connected. She folded her hands over his, holding on in the ocean of bliss. 

Then, she opened her eyes and looked down at him beneath her. She saw what made his breath catch in his throat. The lantern light illuminated his scars in all their glory, remembered pain, and history. His skin looked golden, like the gods she imagined in ancient mythology. Clarke felt the light lay all her imperfections bare as well. She resisted the urge to look at her hands and make sure there was so blood on them. As though reading her mind, Bellamy pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. His eyes never left hers.

Slowly, the tension melted out of Clarke and she was left with only the image of Bellamy’s body. She leaned down to kiss him briefly before straightening. She lifted herself off his shaft and lowered down onto him with a gasp. It was everything she had ever imagined. 

As she began to ride him, Bellamy lifted his hips against her. She moaned softly, rocking down to meet him thrust for thrust. Her breasts bounced slightly with each movement, shadows dancing across her nudity. Bellamy’s hand slid up her back and then caged her ribs between his long fingers. 

Bellamy sat up suddenly and he sank even deeper into Clarke’s body. She gasped in surprise and her arms automatically circled around his shoulders. Her nails bit tiny crescents into his skin when he pulled her closer and fastened his mouth to her pulse. He rolled them both over, allowing himself to lean over her. Clarke tightened her legs around his hips, locking him deep inside as she gasped at the new sensation. Bellamy ran his fingers down her side, stroking her skin until she could look at him.

He didn’t speak, but she saw the question in his dark eyes.

She nodded, curled her hand through his hair, and pulled him close for a kiss. 

Bellamy braced his hands on the makeshift mattress and began to thrust into her. It was quicker than the pace Clarke had set and she gasped in delight. She clung to his shoulders, only able to pant something like his name as he moved within her. Her walls clutched at him, drawing him covetously back into her body. She gave herself over to the pleasure as Bellamy rocked into her, gasping wordlessly. She kissed his freckles, his scar, the curve of his strong shoulder. 

Bellamy watched the shaky rise and fall of her chest as she tried to anchor herself. She clawed his back, her thighs tightened around his hips, and he knew she was getting close. He shifted his weight onto one arm, freeing his other hand to caress her. He started at her lips, fingers tracing her mouth open. Clarke’s eyes fluttered and she gazed at him wonderingly. Bellamy didn’t slip his fingers inside and instead waited for her to kiss him. His tongue snaked into her mouth, matching the pace he set below. 

Clarke gasped against his lips and he felt her entire body convulse with pleasure. His hand trailed lower, sweeping around the swell of her breast before pinching her nipple. He rolled it between his callused fingers, feeling her core tighten around him. Then, he caressed lower, dipping into her belly button and prying a little giggle from her lips. He found her pearl and stroked it as he thrust. Clarke’s entire body trembled beneath the onslaught. She gasped in bliss. 

Pleasure that bordered on impossible raced through her body and spilled over in a white-hot blur. He thrust gently, helping her ride the waves of pleasure to the shore, as she clenched around his shaft. Then, the heat and tight wetness of her body overcame him. He pulled out hastily, gripped himself in his hand, and finished. His seed was hot on her skin. Panting, Clarke looked up at him. Her eyes were full of stars, glittering at the edges, but she smiled up at him.

Bellamy groped around beside the bed for his discarded shirt and wiped away the semen on her skin. Then, he dropped it back on the floor. There was space between them, cool air whispering against Clarke’s bare flesh. Wordlessly, Clarke stretched her arms out for him, reaching. Bellamy cuddled against her side, sliding his arm beneath her back to pull her tighter against him. She sighed, her hand resting over his heart. Absently, she stroked his skin with her thumb. 

Bellamy pulled the blankets up over both of them, swathing Clarke’s nudity within the shelter of his bed. He caressed her bare skin, stroking the contour of her breast absently. The calluses on his palm were rough but familiar.

Clarke thought about the first time she had fallen into Bellamy’s arms. The pit of loneliness that had eaten through Clarke’s chest was nothing more than a healed wound now. Bellamy had filled it. He filled her to the brim with more than just himself.

Clarke’s lips tingled with thousands of things she wanted to say—insecure whispers and pleas, words of love from old movies and songs, promises and questions—but she didn’t speak any of them. Bellamy curled against her side, his fingers still lingering on her skin and his breath pluming warm on her cheek. He was still here with her, holding and touching her. His actions were louder, stronger, than anything she ever could have given words to. 

Clarke slid her hand through the cool silk of his hair, letting the dark curls slip through her fingers. She turned her head slightly to look at him, pressed along the curve of her body. The lamplight caught on his freckles, on the scar at the corner of his mouth, on the flash of his throat as he breathed. 

His eyes were dark as he looked at her, unblinking. Wordlessly, he slid his hand along her ribs, over her breast, and his long fingers curled gently around her throat. Clarke let her head tip back, exposing her vulnerability to him. She trusted him, trusted his touch, completely.

“Bellamy,” she whispered and her throat moved beneath his palm.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, breaking away the thoughts of whatever she was going to say. 

Clarke shifted slightly to face him, nuzzling into his hand when he lifted it to cradle her cheek. She curled tighter into his embrace, exploring the ridges of his bare chest with her fingertips, and kissed him deeply. It was slow and tender, reaching into a place in Clarke’s chest that warmed in Bellamy’s presence. She touched the scar on his shoulder, felt his fingers slide against the mark behind her ear, and shivered with the sensation. 

She closed her eyes and just basked in the afterglow of his gentle touches. There was no place on her body that she forbid him and he never shied away as she mapped every scar on his torso. She knew Bellamy had fallen asleep when his hand settled heavy and warm on her hip. His breath was deep and even. Gently, Clarke cuddled him against her heart and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She reached up and managed to turn down his lantern.

X X X

I find that I (and most other people who write smut) usually just end my stories the second my main characters bang. This time, I tried to draw the ending out a little longer to give some more closure. What do you think?

Questions, comments, concerns?


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